James' Angel
by DaDomz
Summary: A ring hidden within a portrait reveals to its current owner his past life, though curious enough, Draco sees the world through a woman's eyes, some disowned Malfoy. HPDM (Slash, but not really)


JAMES' ANGEL by: DaDomz (Br@nw3n and Lestat)  
  
Summary: Draco fortuitously stumbles upon a portrait of one of his ancestors, curiously a woman. Though it is well known that all Malfoy's are male. A well-kept secret. She is the key to a life he had lived in his past. (DM/HP)  
  
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to us. The plot was somewhat inspired by a story written by Kimberly O'Hara entitled 'Gabriel's Angel'. A Christmas love story.  
  
PROEM: PAST REVELATIONS  
  
A long dark and unmarked door stood at the end of the seemingly endless hallway in which he had just exited, gazing at the sturdy wood that had protected the vast opening which should have stood in its place. He stared at it with unhidden indifference, though slightly ruffled by the presence of the stalwart and ancient oak that now occupied a place where a blank entrance had once stood, obscuring any outsider's view of the chamber within.  
  
Draco Malfoy lifted a fist and confidently rapped on the fine wooden grains, all the while pulling on the brass lever that served as a knob. He entered, striding in the room in carefully calculated steps, head held high, the delicate line of his noble chin raised slightly towards the sky, noting the disordered countenance of the usually spruce albeit musty chamber.  
  
He concluded that his father, as he had been told by the house elves, had been last seen heading in this direction.  
  
It was undoubtedly Lucius Malfoy who had had the door fitted in its frame, for what, his son could not comprehend.  
  
He took in the state of the dusty tomes scattered around the marble parterre which supposedly held the entire Malfoy lineage's history, though how accurate, Draco would never be certain, but just then, as he was preparing to vacate the room, a particular book, more well-kept than the others, caught his eye, though its particular contents surpassed his knowledge, he had concurred that it was indeed a book which held records of the Malfoy ancestry.  
  
He spun around, and when he thought he saw no one in the area, took the book, flipped through it until he reached the aged leather cover, allowing a regal brow to raise as he took in the delicate gold-embossed writing which specified that this particular document held the history of Malfoy's who had existed from the 1600s to the 1700s.  
  
It was a rather thin volume, but that fact did not surprise him, he had been told that Malfoy's could only conceive one child per generation, a male, and he was the descendant that had been born into this generation.  
  
He yawned as he flipped through the pages of the yellowed book, uninterested at the information before him, information that would someday be bequeathed to him, for he was waiting for his father to appear and was only skimming through the tome to pass the time until a particular entry caught his eye.  
  
There on one particular page, the name Sir Ulrich Malfoy had been painstakingly forged onto the paper in some ancient calligraphy that Draco himself had been taught as he had learned to write.  
  
But it was not the name that had startled him, drew his difficult to acquire attention, but it was the name below it, written with less care, tinier than the first which had taken up the entire heading of the page, hidden beneath it, as if it were supposed to be forgotten in the recesses of time, a memory that one wished to never recall.  
  
The name plainly stated; Draco Rhiannon Malfoy.  
  
'Odd,' he thought with a raised brow as he contemplated such absurdity.  
  
Rhiannon had been the great Welsh Goddess, the supposed Great Queen of that certain mythological constituent which he knew that his ancestors had highly believed in.  
  
Rhiannon was a female's name.  
  
There was only supposed to be one Malfoy child in each generation and if that were not queer enough, this supposed bastard child was female.  
  
He had not heard of such absurdity, had not heard of a female before-  
  
"Draco!" Lucius' voice cut through his speculations.  
  
He nodded to his father as the older man entered the room and watched in unmasked amusement as his father's eyes went wide with shock, constantly shifting his gaze from his son and to the open book which his son had been obviously deriving his entertainment from.  
  
Draco deliberately caught his gaze and held it, emphasizing his actions as he tossed the edition aside and nonchalantly toss it aside, eyeing his father with deliberate patience.  
  
"What are you doing here in my study?" Lucius Malfoy asked, sheathing his fear, of what, Draco could not fathom, with anger.  
  
"I had wanted to see you about something but seeing as to that you are in a sour mood." he shrugged, knowing his father would know how to finish that thought for him.  
  
"What is it that you want?" Lucius raised his brow, in a fashion which was appallingly similar to his son's.  
  
"I had just wanted to bid you a proper farewell, we aren't going to see each other for another year," he answered, then realising that what he had voiced seemed improper and too emotional, he quickly added, "I had just wanted you to be the first to hear that I was leaving for Hogwarts, that is, if you might care to know."  
  
Lucius replied coldly, "You need no sanction from me to leave and attain an education."  
  
Draco nodded, turned on his heel and abruptly left the room without another word, allowing the heartless consciousness linger in his father's chamber, knowing that it would have to be the only way. Malfoys were never known for showing their emotions, not to others and especially not to one another.  
  
With that encounter behind him, he began to wonder of the outcast, the disgrace of the family. The child who he was supposedly named after, the woman whose name meant both downfall and greatness.  
  
His incredulity had unconsciously brought him before a great golden door defined with ancient Welsh writing, so old it were uncomprehendible even to ones with the purest of Welsh blood. And located in the middle of all the symbols which had probably stood as a warning or a cautionary tale to trespassers, was the Malfoy family seal, etched onto the gold paneling, only the purest of silver had been welded to create the commanding signet.  
  
He chuckled at the ways of his mind, his feet had led him directly towards the Malfoys Ancestral Room, where portraits of long gone Malfoys had been suspended on the walls, displayed there until the end of time, their regal airs forever preserved in intricately designed picture frames.  
  
He suspiciously looked around, seeing if anyone was within the premises, and finding his surroundings void of any witnesses, he silently slipped into the usually vacated room.  
  
He stealthily crossed the vast hallway that was dotted with hundreds of Malfoys in their best forever remembered through their portraits. He walked past his early ancestors and calculated which sub-entrance he would have to pass through to glimpse at this Rhiannon person.  
  
After a few minutes of strained searching, he finally found the door on which the Malfoys from the mid-15th to early 16th century portraitures were kept. He entered the room and gently shut the door behind him.  
  
Walking past numerous depictions of his forefathers, he finally found her, or who he though Draco Rhiannon Malfoy was.  
  
He had accidentally unveiled her portrait hidden in a corner of the room, equivocal to passers-by who were to stumble upon the chamber, though he had the fortune to find it for he had tripped on the Persian carpet in a very un-regal manner and stumbling upon a secret panel which had auspiciously flipped open as he landed upon it.  
  
His breath caught as he scrutinized her appearance.  
  
Waist length platinum blonde locks, not unlike his own, billowed out behind her as flaxen tendrils framed her face as the others were pulled back in a simple queue. Pale milky-white tinged with a light pinkish hue, served as her integument, though such soft and beautiful skin could have only belonged to a Goddess. Lips as pink as opals and eyes so gray they almost seemed like glittering sapphires.  
  
She could have been an exact replica of the young man that stood before her, though it were not surprising, for all Malfoys had taken on similar appearances.  
  
But what had struck him was the desolate, deplorate and altogether hopeless glimmer that had seemed permanently embedded in her startlingly haunting ashen orbs.  
  
He ran a slender finger along the golden frame's elaborate carvings, wondering.  
  
Deep in contemplation, he hadn't noticed that his finger had caught at something and had been brought out of his reverie when he heard a deafening clatter break the tranquility that the room had previously offered.  
  
He bent down and examined the lustrous object before collecting the tiny thing in the palm of his hand, feeling its unexpected coolness, an alarming contrast to his tepid epithelium.  
  
"What the-" he muttered as he examined the smooth platinum ring in his palm, twisting it between his fingers, deep in thought until the notion of checking the simple article of jewelry for any engravings, for he remembered his mother's own wedding band, it had held some sort of French prose, a profession of love, something he thought was amusing for there was no proof of his father's 'supposed' adulation towards his mother.  
  
He ceased his unconscious game with the ring and held the object close to his face, squinting at it, trying to decipher the miniscule etching found on the ring's inside. It was in Welsh, a language he had learned.  
  
Mo 'n anghofiedig  
  
He understood its English translation yet knew not what it truly meant, what it was supposed to mean.  
  
"Young Master Draco," a voice called from behind, startling him out of his trance, causing him to drop the ancient ring once more.  
  
He spun around and leveled the house-elf who had dared startle him with a piercing glare.  
  
The tiny creature seemed unfazed and it was then that Draco realized that it was Twinky, the elf that had helped his nanny raise him.  
  
"Your mother wishes it of me to alert you for time is of the essence for the train is nearly scheduled to leave and to inform you of the impending traffic that usually happens at this time."  
  
Draco nodded and watched the house-elf start to leave, unfazed by the fact that this one spoke proper English, for Lucius Malfoy required it of them if they were to touch his only child.  
  
Content that the elf was leaving, he turned, scooped up the fallen ornament and stood close to the picture's frame, studying it, intent on finding out where the ring had been lodged, kept hidden through the centuries.  
  
And he found it.  
  
Next to some Welsh writing which only proved that the ring's Welsh forging.  
  
He wondered about this Rhiannon Malfoy, a person he was supposedly named after.  
  
What had caused all that sorrow to embed itself into her very soul?  
  
What had happened to make her?  
  
Who had she been, why did she strike him so much, disturb and tease at the impenetrable walls he had established around his soul to cease anymore pain from tormenting him?  
  
Sound of a throat clearing, a sign of an approaching disturbance.  
  
"Yes, Twinky, I am coming."  
  
And with one last longing look at the portrait of the enigmatic woman who had been part of his heritage, part of his past, he exited the secluded chamber and grudgingly followed the house-elf towards the vehicle that would take him to King's Cross, to the train that would take him to Hogwarts. 


End file.
